


Hold Me Down

by N1ghtWr1ter



Series: Badlands [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Lexa, Alpha!Lexa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, And a little bit of plot, Because apparently I can't help myself, Clexa, F/F, Futanari, G!P, Omega Clarke, Omega Verse, Omega!Clarke, Omegaverse, Poor Lexa, Power Bottom Clarke Griffin, Smut, emphasis on the power, i am trash, she doesn't know what hit her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:53:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtWr1ter/pseuds/N1ghtWr1ter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"We want the same things, Clarke."</em>
</p><p>Clarke decides to test that theory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaand I'm back after a long hiatus (like a certain show we all know and love, amirite?)! Anyway, this is that prequel to Strange Love that I was talking about all those months *cringe* ago. This is basically about how the relationship we saw in SL got started, and of course it's dramatic and hella fucking angsty because this is Clexa we're talking about here. I also may or may not have a far too detailed and angsty sequel planned that, yes, does indeed involve mated Clexa and babies and lots and lots of angst. Did I mention angst? *sigh* I am too fucking predictable. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one. Please let me know your thoughts in the comments and/or hmu on tumblr at n1ghtwr1ter.

_“We want the same things, Clarke.”_

Clarke’s not sure why she’s making her way to the Commander’s tent this late at night, with her thoughts whirling, her mind this much a mess. Every interaction that she’s had with Lexa thus far has warned her that the Grounder alpha is keen as a blade and just as sharp, just as ready to strike at a weakness. She has absolutely no business coming here when she’s not on her A game, but she just…needs to know. She’s spent the last hour and a half – and far too many hours before in her bed within the ruins of the Ark at Camp Jaha, her nose and mind still hazy with the Commander’s scent – puzzling over alternate timelines and possibilities, and now she’s done wondering.

She doesn’t bother to interrogate the fact that the Commander’s tent has been left unguarded. She’s a little too far gone for that.

Despite the lateness of the hour Lexa’s up, sitting in a chair by her war table and toying with a cup of something. Her eyes snap to meet Clarke’s the moment she enters. Clarke knows that she must have smelled her approach, but she still jumps at the sudden sharpness of her gaze. Lexa’s coat is open, exposing the long, unmarked column of her throat, and a vast and tantalizing expanse of skin above her low-cut shirt. Her posture is deceptively relaxed – yet her scent is anything but. She appears much less formal but Clarke is forcibly transported back to the moment they’d first locked eyes: Lexa entirely at ease high on her throne, toying with a knife and not a cup, fresh warpaint on her face making her look like something savage, a pitiless beast.

She would have known Lexa was an alpha even if her scent had not been pervading the entire tent, dark and rich and intoxicating, making Clarke struggle not to suck in a deep breath. It was clear in the way she sat, the way her generals deferred to her, and the way Clarke’s own body had responded. She’s never had much trouble presenting a strong front to alphas – her mother had taught her to respect authority, after all, not antiquated notions about genitalia – but when a clear green gaze, darkened by war paint, flicked up to meet hers, she’d had to struggle not to drop to her knees. She’d locked them instead, lowering her eyes to the ground briefly in deference to the Commander’s position. When she looked up again, Lexa’s own had briefly widened – it was the greeting of one alpha to another, not of an unmated omega to the dominant alpha in a pack, and certainly not what the Commander had expected, Clarke had reasoned with no small amount of glee. But besides the brief flicker of surprise, she had betrayed no more of her reaction to Clarke, instead beginning the verbal sparring that they had passed off as diplomacy.

Except when Lexa had stepped from her throne and crowded into Clarke’s space, there was that alpha smell again, filling her nose and muddling her brain and she had thanked every single star that her heat had come and gone just before the fall to Earth because if she was any closer to it she wasn’t sure what she would do. She’d forced herself to concentrate on Lexa’s words, not on her scent, not on the gaze boring into hers, the warmth she could feel radiating from her body.

After that first charged moment when they had come to their truce, after their trip to Tondc to cremate Finn and his victims, Clarke and Lexa had found themselves forced to work together more often than not, ironing out the details of a truce that neither side wanted but both knew was necessary. Clarke had wanted to believe that Lexa was nothing more than your average brawling knothead – it would certainly be easier that way – but she’d been forced to admit that this was not the case. Lexa had shown rationality, sensitivity, flexibility – none of which were traits typically attributed to alphas – while simultaneously exerting an iron control over her people.

All of this only aggravated Clarke, made her argumentative and snappish; she knew she was being unreasonable but the fact that, had there not been a war so recently between them and the constant brooding threat of another, she could have actually _liked_ Lexa made her hate the alpha with a passion. She took every opportunity she could to pick fights with Lexa, and to her glee the usual patience and calm that the Grounder displayed seemed to dissipate the moment Clarke crossed her – in private, anyway. In public she was still every inch the Commander, no matter what Clarke tried, and in time she came to realize that she wasn’t doing herself any favors by attempting to make Lexa lose it in front of other people. She refused to interrogate _why_ she so badly wanted to provoke that reaction.

Clarke had never seen or smelled or _felt_ like she was in the presence of a more dominant alpha, and it made part of her seethe, as it always had – she hated alphas who still clung stubbornly to the old bullshit that they were naturally more dominant, needed to be more in control of the situation, and _deserved_ it more than betas or omegas. But while Lexa seems in some ways like the epitome of all that she’s come to hate in alphas, she’s also acted strikingly unlike them in Clarke’s experience of her. Alphas who think they have the right to command typically bark and shout and boss people around, constantly trying to assert their dominance; Lexa’s only raised her voice once that Clarke can remember. It had only had the barest hint of alpha vocal overtones layering it, but even though it had not been directed towards her it had made her shiver anyway. And it had had an immediate effect on Indra: she had backed off of Clarke instantly, snarling, head lowered towards her Commander.

Every other time she’s needed to assert her authority, however, it’s been in a low voice, barely audible over the shouting and roaring of the others. Clarke had hardly expected that approach to be effective, and yet it is: they stop pushing and fighting instantly and turn, heads down and postures submissive, waiting for their Commander’s next words. They do not always obey, and not always immediately, but the deference they give her and the respect that she commands takes Clarke’s breath away.

And, apparently, makes her ask herself inappropriate questions late at night. Such as:

_Would I let her command me like that?_

_Do I want her to?_

On the way to the Grounder encampment from Camp Jaha, shaking with nervous excitement, she had reframed these questions as challenges for herself. Can she have this Commander begging beneath her, hanging on Clarke’s every word in the hopes that it might be permission or release? She doesn’t play these kinds of games with betas or omegas – they’re sexy in other ways and she’s responded to them accordingly. But alphas – just because it’s supposed to be _in their nature_ to dominate her and in her own, as an omega, to submit – and because it was what so many of them had expected – she’s always felt the need to subvert that dichotomy, to turn the tables.

“It’s late, Clarke,” Lexa says after the silence has stretched between them to the breaking point. Clarke nods, deciding not to reply. Instead, she moves closer to the alpha, close enough that she can smell the agitation radiating off of her. Just shy of being within kissing distance, she stops, arches an eyebrow at Lexa’s visible gulp, and then turns to the table. Taking Lexa's cup, she raises it to her lips and drinks. There’s another gulp as green eyes darkened by candle smoke and lust follow the movements of her throat. Clarke can barely taste the drink; Lexa’s smell seems to have invaded all of her senses.

“You should be at home, in your bed,” Lexa tries again, her voice breaking ever so slightly on the last word, and Clarke smirks. Her grin gets wider at the low growl she can hear rumbling from the alpha’s chest.

“Asleep?” It’s the first word she’s spoken since she entered the tent, and its low huskiness makes Lexa suck in a breath – bad idea, because now she’s caught the omega’s scent too, and it had been pretty obvious she’d been trying not to inhale. Clarke’s smirk widens again, and she thinks she must look like the Cheshire Cat. Lexa’s getting a taste of her own medicine.

She’s not like other alphas, but it’s proven clear that she’s not above using what she is to her benefit, Clarke has seen. There have been times when Clarke’s getting into it with one of Lexa’s generals and Lexa has come close, perhaps slightly closer than is absolutely necessary, and all of a sudden Clarke’s words have dried up in her mouth. With alpha tones slightly layered over her voice, she's shut down her recalcitrant advisor or chieftain in moments – and stepped away, leaving Clarke shivering and furious. Lexa didn’t try those tricks on her in their private fights, but the possibility had hung at the back of Clarke’s mind, along with other thoughts she didn’t like having – like how her own shivering had not entirely been with rage.

“I don’t presume to tell you what to do with your own time, Clarke,” Lexa says hoarsely after a moment, “but yes, sleep would be advisable. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Mmhmm,” Clarke purrs, taking another sip from the cup. “Wouldn’t want to be worn out, would we?” She reaches out to put the cup back on the table, bringing herself just a little bit closer, and sees Lexa’s chest hitch at the sudden proximity. Their hands brush, very briefly, and when Clarke glances down at Lexa’s white-knuckled death grip on the table she can’t help but recall the first time she’d seen the alpha that way. Whether she’d been straining to get further away from Clarke or to keep herself from getting closer, she couldn’t tell then – but at this point she has a pretty good idea which one it was.

They’d been arguing about something stupid – a group of Arkers had decided to start clearing some brush around Camp Jaha so they could try to farm, but what they’d thought was merely scrubland had turned out to be a habitat filled with game birds. When a hunting party from Tondc came upon the Sky people burning out the brush, they had reacted with outrage and demands for them to stop – but of course, given that it was in Trigedasleng, all the Arkers had seen was Grounders yelling and gesticulating at them with weapons. They had run for the safety of the fence, yelling that the Grounders were coming to kill them all, and it had resulted in a tense standoff that had only ended once Lexa had arrived. A few moments of speech in calm, clear English had been enough to remind the terrified and furious Ark guards that her people were, in fact, human; it had taken a lot more shouting to hash out why this mess had started in the first place.

It had been going on for a while – Abby and Kane and Lexa’s delegates had gone to get some dinner, but Lexa and Clarke had declined, both highly conscious of the tension brewing between them and eager to disperse it with their usual methods. The moment the door to the Ark’s command center had slammed shut behind their attendants, they had launched into a furious argument that had brought them nearer and nearer to one another, so close that Clarke had largely forgotten what they were supposed to be arguing about – she just knew that she needed to keep yelling at Lexa, or she might do something else.

But in the middle of an impassioned rant about boundaries, Lexa’s eyes had softened, her voice trailed off, and eventually Clarke’s did too. The Grounder alpha had taken a step closer, Clarke had taken a step back, but had been brought up short against the map table. She’d gripped it hard, not sure what Lexa was planning and not sure what she herself was doing either – surely she should have shoved the alpha back by now, what kind of bullshit was this, this was harassment and she wasn’t going to stand for –

And then Lexa was closing the gap, reaching one hand up and sliding it gently along Clarke’s cheek to cup the back of her neck and draw her forward. Clarke’s mind had gone blank at this point and it had been something of a shock to find herself tilting her head back, eyes sliding shut as Lexa’s lips pressed ever so softly against her own. It had been nothing like what she’d known of alphas but god did it feel so good to be held and touched this way – it reminded her, suddenly, that life wasn’t just about fighting and survival, but that there were things worth fighting for.

Lexa had pressed slightly forward, molding their bodies together with surprising gentleness and deepening the kiss, though it still remained soft and slow. Clarke felt a hand take hold of her hip, and reflexively one of her own came up to press at Lexa’s back. She felt like she was drowning in Lexa, in her scent and her touch and the soft insistence of her lips, and a brief swipe of the alpha’s tongue had her opening her mouth under Lexa’s. Heat was building between them; Clarke could feel it roiling in her chest and it had been too long but it was also too much, too soon. A moment later Lexa broke the kiss to angle her head for different access, her nose brushing across Clarke’s, and with a mental wrench Clarke pulled away.

Lexa jerked back half a step instantly, and coolness and clarity flooded Clarke’s mind. This was Lexa – she had been kissing _Lexa,_ the Commander of a still-hostile army, and while they worked well together that was strictly business and it had been _days_ since Finn and what was she _doing_? Clarke’s voice echoed her thoughts. “What are you doing?”

Lexa’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, looking almost as surprised at herself as Clarke was, and the omega willed herself not to think about how soft those lips had been on hers. “I…”

She was spared an answer by the suddenness of the door groaning open, and Lexa jumped back another few steps. Indra’s head poked in, eyes searching the semi-darkness and narrowing when they met Clarke’s and Lexa’s panicked gazes. “Heda, you should eat something.”

Lexa had taken the opportunity and fled, and Clarke had thought _coward_ at her back as loudly as she could, hoping viciously that she could hear it.

They hadn’t brought it up again when they’d met next, to discuss Grounders teaching Arkers earth skills in exchange for Ark technology. They’d squabbled over the rate of exchange and several times Clarke had seen a heated snap in Lexa’s eyes, a hitch in her breath that told her she was remembering what had happened the last time they were alone together, but she wasn’t going to mention it until Lexa did – until the alpha was ready with a good explanation. None was forthcoming and Clarke eventually stopped expecting one; what she could not stop, however, was the way that the kiss – the warmth of Lexa’s body, the press of soft lips, the gentle but insistent pressure of her hands – played over and over in her head as she attempted to sleep.

She’d thought it would eventually come to fade but instead it began, sometimes, to replace her nightmares, screaming and the smell of burning human flesh supplanted by soft, shallow breathing and a rich, dark smell. Hands, instead of dragging her down and beating her, began to grasp and roam. Heat, instead of the roar of the flames, was instead the press of a lean, strong body against hers, warm, soft skin sliding over her own. When she woke up in the middle of the night, gasping at the clarity of one of them – it had felt so real, Lexa against her, one hand sliding up under her shirt and the other inching below her waistband – and found herself drenched, she couldn’t resist sliding her own hand into her underwear and finishing what the girl in the dream had started. By the time she came – biting her own fist to keep from moaning – she was infuriated and still turned on beyond measure. This couldn’t stand – she had to keep a clear head, and she couldn’t do that if it was filled with entirely inappropriate thoughts about a fellow leader. She needed to push Lexa as far away as possible, to make her forget whatever idiotic thing had convinced her to kiss Clarke in the first place.

She had marched over to Lexa’s encampment with the intention of doing just that, and found the Grounder alpha packing a trunk. The army was scheduled to move on later that evening; they would camp around Tondc and wait for the leaders of the other clans to arrive and discuss their plans for the Mountain. That should have been a welcome thought to Clarke, but she’d already worked herself up into a rage. She didn’t even give Lexa the chance to greet her before she’d started yelling about everything, anything. She had no idea if she was making sense – all she could think about was the satisfaction building in her as she drew closer and closer to the Grounder alpha and saw her backing up, eyes wide.

The unexpected act of submission, and the surprise radiating from the Commander, sent a sharp spike of lust coiling through Clarke’s belly. Suddenly whatever it was she came to do with Lexa had gone flying out the window, and Clarke had found herself closing the gap between her and the Commander with a few swift strides. Lexa’s steps had echoed hers until there had been no further to back away – her (incredibly firm, shapely) ass had hit the war table with an audible thump, and Clarke had kept advancing until she was barely an inch away.

Lexa had snarled at her to get out, fury snapping in her eyes and her upper lip curled, but Clarke hadn’t paid attention to her words – her smell was far more interesting. Under the layers of fury and surprise at being ambushed in her own tent, there was also lust. She’d stepped closer and breathed it in, felt it intertwine with her own and god did that make it smell even better. And then she’d pressed their bodies together, reveling in the way they seamlessly fit, before digging her nails into Lexa’s scalp and drawing her into a furious kiss.

The alpha responded instantly, hands flying to Clarke’s waist and tugging her impossibly closer. Lexa’s mouth had been hot and her teeth sharp as they bit down on Clarke’s bottom lip, making her gasp. The alpha’s tongue was exploring her mouth before she could protest, and by the time she’d recovered her words she didn’t want to. She could feel the Commander’s hands flexing, digging her nails into Clarke’s waist, and when a thumb came up to brush just under her shirt she’d let out another gasp.

But the sharp spike of pleasure also served to focus her – this was not how she had intended the encounter to go, and if she didn’t recover herself she knew that Lexa would have her way with her – that’s how alphas are. So she took it a handful of steps further, fingers flying over the buckles of Lexa’s overcoat until it fell away from her torso, allowing Clarke access to the low-cut tunic beneath. She’d played with its ragged edges for just a moment before pushing her hands up under it, delighting in the feeling of soft skin contrasted with the hard muscles of Lexa’s stomach. Her desire spiked again when the alpha lets out a gasp of her own, and Clarke seized the opportunity to ravage Lexa’s mouth, pressing her further against the table until she bore Lexa down.

The angle was awkward, so she’d kneed Lexa’s legs apart and pressed forward. Almost at once she had felt the telltale swell against her thigh and she forced herself to focus on her glee, on enjoying the power she clearly has over Lexa, so that she couldn’t be distracted by how wet she’s getting. But she couldn’t help the thoughts running through her head: Lexa using the wiry strength she can see in the alpha’s every movement to reverse their positions, to bend her over the table and to yank Clarke’s pants down and –

“Heda?” a voice called, hesitant and respectful – Ryder’s. All at once Clarke’s face flushed with the position he might find them in: the Sky omega draped over the Commander, hands buried in her long braided mane, rubbing herself against the bulge growing at the join of Lexa’s legs –

Clarke had pushed herself up from Lexa and done her very, very best to ignore the way her entire body seemed to protest at its removal from the heat and hard contours of the alpha’s frame. Lexa’s hands were on her arms, helping – though they seemed to grip her rather harder than was strictly necessary and had been somewhat hesitant to let go, once they were fully separated from one another. They had remained, eyes locked, faces red, kept silent by the weight of everything they weren’t saying to one another, before Ryder’s voice – closer this time – broke the silence.

 _“Heda,_ _yu ste ogud? Indra_ _gaf_ _nau bants.”_

 _“Ai ste os,”_ Lexa had said, a little breathlessly, and the moment had snapped like a twig underfoot.

“I should get back to –”

“Yes, you should.”

It hadn’t had the sound of a rebuke, though – there was that look again in Lexa’s eyes, the look that Clarke had never thought to see on the face of an alpha, who was just supposed to take what she wanted: longing, frustration, desire. It had been so unlike the mask of the Commander that she usually wears that it was almost like looking at a different person – until that same familiar mask snapped down and Lexa strode from her tent, calling to her warriors in swift Trigedasleng. After a moment, Clarke had left too, steadfastly ignoring the looks she could feel on her, certain that they must have been able to smell their Commander on her but refusing to consider what that might mean. She’d made her way back to Camp Jaha with her head spinning and her nose full of Lexa, more confused and frustrated than when she’d started out.

* * *

 

That look is on Lexa’s face right now, the softness and the longing mingled with desire that Clarke finds so entrancing, and it spurs her to reach up, tangle her hands in the fine hairs at the back of the alpha’s neck, and draw her down. Lexa offers no resistance, instead moving like her lips are magnetically attracted to Clarke’s; when they meet it’s with something like relief, as though it was keeping apart that was difficult.

Clarke wants to feel something like the fire and intensity that most alphas bring to bear, the urge to dominate and control that she can sublimate and turn to her own pleasure. But Lexa’s lips move over hers softly, almost hesitantly, and she finds herself wondering whether the Commander’s…nervous? She runs her hands up and down Lexa’s firm, toned arms and finds her answer: the muscles are quivering ever-so-gently. She pulls back with a frown, suddenly concerned that she might have somehow misread the cues in the alpha’s scent, her stance, the way she’d first kissed Clarke and kissed her back. But when she looks into green eyes that are now darkened with lust, it’s clear that Lexa wants this as much as she does.

Refusing to hesitate further, she reaches up for Lexa again, pressing her lips harder against the alpha’s, and lets out an encouraging moan when the Commander responds, her hands gripping tighter at Clarke’s waist and pulling their bodies flush against each other. Clarke feels the heat of the Commander’s skin burning through her clothing and thinks that her own can’t be much better; all of a sudden the layers of fabric don’t feel like much of a barrier at all.

A full-body shudder ripples through the alpha, and one of Lexa’s hands grabs onto Clarke’s hip more firmly while the other begins, albeit hesitantly, to roam, exploring the muscles of Clarke’s back and shoulders under her jacket and then returning, achingly slow, to its original position…and then lower. Clarke growls against Lexa’s lips as short fingernails rake shallow scratches down her lower back, a thumb rubs circles into the soft skin there, and then –

“Ah!”

She can’t keep the exclamation from spilling forth when the alpha’s heretofore hesitant hand takes a firm hold of her ass, squeezing its curve and digging in with her nails. A low growl starts up in Lexa’s chest, and Clarke thrills – the alpha’s natural assertiveness is emerging, and now the game can really begin. She breaks the kiss, ignoring Lexa’s displeased rumble, and dips her head to press a kiss to the skin of the Commander’s neck. It’s not quite in the intimate space under the jawline usually reserved for mates and lovers, but it’s close – close enough for the proximity of the scent glands there to make her head swim, and for Lexa to let out a gasp at Clarke’s audacity. But she doesn’t pull away, not until Clarke stops pressing kisses to the soft skin and bites down instead – not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to get the alpha’s attention.

Lexa pulls her head back, snarling, eyes snapping with confused fury. “What are you doing, Clarke?” she says roughly, and Clarke takes a moment to enjoy the sight of her chest heaving, lips bee-stung from kissing, body trembling against hers in a roil of rage and want, before she goes in for the kill.

“Taking what I want,” she hisses into Lexa’s ear, a moment before biting down on it. “We want the same things, don’t we, Lexa? That’s what you said before…”

“I hardly think that statement applies in this situa- ah!” She breaks off into a gasp when Clarke’s teeth resume their hold on her neck.

And now it’s the omega’s hands who explore, slipping around Lexa’s trim waist and under her shirt to rake shallow scratches across the muscles of her back, rounding the flare of her hips to squeeze – not gently – at the firm curve of her ass, a fitting punishment, Clarke thinks, for the crime that is those tight pants of hers. There’s hardly an ounce of fat on Lexa’s body that she can tell – not uncommon for someone with an alpha metabolism – but what she does find only serves to smooth harsh lines into toned angles. She practically purrs as her fingers slide across the sculpted landscape of Lexa’s abdomen before allowing her fingers to rest just below the alpha’s waistband.

There’s an audible gulp.

“I think it does,” Clarke rasps, feeling her own hot breath reflected back to her from the skin of Lexa’s throat. The alpha’s pheromones are coming at her in waves now, threatening to turn her into the whimpering, needy mess that so many people have as their image of omegas. But Clarke knows how to control this particular physiological reaction, and she turns her visions of Lexa pressing her down to the table, yanking off her pants and pulling down her undershorts and _taking her_ , into visions of herself doing the same.

“I think you want me to touch you,” Clarke continues, letting her hand slip another inch or two below Lexa’s waistband, loving the shivers she feels coursing along the silky skin. “I think you want to see what I look like when I’m wrapped around you. I think you want to know how I sound when I’m about to come.” The lower her fingers slide, the further Lexa’s eyelids lower, fluttering in time with the pulse in her neck as she struggles to keep her gaze locked with Clarke’s. Clarke slides her hand lower still, realizing with a barely-contained gasp that Lexa isn’t wearing underthings of any kind. She clenches her jaw against the sudden pulse that ripples through her as her fingers brush against throbbing hardness, but she doesn’t give in to her frantic desire to wrap around the alpha’s length. She stills her hand instead and waits until Lexa’s eyes meet hers once more, darkened by desire and made liquid by need.

“Clarke…”

“Am I right?” Clarke demands, low but insistent. “Do we want the same things?” Lexa swallows and her jaw works as she struggles to answer and Clarke feels as though all of the oxygen has left the tent. Just as Clarke begins to think she might suffocate with her own need, Lexa’s eyes slide shut.

_“Yes.”_

The word tapers into a groan as Clarke finally lets herself reach her destination, wrapping her hand firmly around Lexa’s cock. Her inner walls pulse greedily at the way it twitches in her hand, but as much as she’d love to push Lexa down onto the table, yank her pants down to her ankles, and take the alpha inside herself, she forces herself to wait. She owes Lexa payback for nearly a month of agonizing dreams and soaked sheets and furtive masturbatory excursions, and she’s not going to indulge herself until she’s got the alpha moaning and begging for it the way she wants.

It appears, however, that Lexa has other ideas. Clarke’s only warning is a sudden spike in the pheromones pouring off of the Commander before Lexa’s eyes snap open and her hand is shoving Clarke’s away from her cock. Clarke only has time to growl and narrow her eyes before the Grounder takes a firm hold on her hips and leans in. She only pays a brief moment of attention to Clarke’s lips before moving lower, latching onto her neck and making Clarke’s growl cut off abruptly into a gasp. Then the hands on her waist are sliding around and moving lower, giving her ass a rough squeeze and then she’s being lifted into the air and holy _fuck,_ she’d known Lexa was strong, but she’s never seen it displayed quite like this and it turns her on beyond measure. The alpha’s need for dominance is asserting itself, and that combined with the intoxicating waves of pheromones pouring off of her and mingling with Clarke’s own seems to have made her brain short-circuit. She barely registers being set down on the map table before Lexa’s pushing forward, pressing a thigh between her knees and kissing Clarke, _hard._

That wakes her up out of the stupid omega haze and she fists her hands in Lexa’s hair, tugging just hard enough to get Lexa’s attention but not hard enough to pull her away. To her annoyance, however, the alpha breaks the kiss just long enough to growl, eyes snapping with dark green fury, “You first.” Clarke wants to snarl back a response but suddenly Lexa’s nipping at her neck again and _fuck,_ that combination of lips and tongue and teeth really should be illegal. Lexa’s hand is undoing the button of Clarke’s jeans with surprising dexterity, and then she’s being lifted again, just long enough to yank her pants down to her knees. The Commander growls in frustration against Clarke’s throat and she _would_ make fun of her if she had any breath to do so, but it’s mostly been stolen – as well as half of Clarke’s brain – by the alpha’s rough treatment. And then Lexa’s shoving her hand into Clarke’s shorts and at the first swipe of her fingers through Clarke’s heated, soaked folds, the rest of it is gone as well.

From the way Lexa had been handling her, Clarke had expected to be penetrated roughly and suddenly, but Lexa’s fingers slide through her wetness gently, almost tentatively, slowly circling her clit. This isn’t what Clarke wants, what she needs, and she growls at Lexa to “Fuck me or get out” – ignoring the fact that this is Lexa’s tent, Lexa’s table, Lexa’s army surrounding them and Lexa’s hand down her pants, currently tormenting her. Lexa hasn’t forgotten any of these things, though, and she just raises an eyebrow, smirking, and continues her slow, deliberate movements. Soon Clarke’s shaking and moaning, chanting “Fuck, _fuck,_ Lexa, _fuck me,_ dammit” in between needy gasps, and glaring at Lexa when she can force her eyes open. But the alpha’s proven herself nothing if not patient, and Clarke knows the look on the Commander’s face by now. She’s not going to get the kind of stimulation she needs until she does exactly what she came here determined not to do: submit.

It doesn’t take long before need has overridden whatever pride Clarke might have left. “Lexa, please,” she whines, unable to find it within herself to beg any further; all she can do is pray that’ll be enough. The Grounder’s gaze is steady on hers and her hand continues its aggravating path along her swollen slit, and finally Clarke loses it. She tips her head back with a needy whine, exposing the column of her throat, and thrusts her hips forward into Lexa’s hand.

Lexa’s teeth grip at her neck, and all of a sudden Clarke’s being filled, two fingers pushing into her _hard_ and curling at the exact right spot to make her see stars. She manages to keep from coming right then and there but she can’t keep herself from letting out an embarrassingly loud groan because this is _exactly_ what she needs, right there, _harder._ As though she can read Clarke’s mind Lexa obliges, beginning to pound into her, withdrawing as much as Clarke’s undershorts will let her and then slamming her fingers back into Clarke’s opening. She can feel herself clenching around them already, greedily attempting to suck them in, glorying in the sensation of fullness, though she can’t help but imagine just how good Lexa’s cock is going to feel once it’s in her.

But because she’s Clarke and this is Lexa, she can’t let her have this without pushing her, without making her work for it. She winds her hands into Lexa’s hair, yanks that aggravating and oh-so-talented mouth off of her neck, and kisses her, _hard_ , like this is one of their arguments, like she has something to prove (doesn’t she?). Lexa’s moving to thrust her tongue into Clarke’s mouth, but she cuts her off, biting her lip hard enough to make her gasp and taking the opportunity to go for Lexa’s neck again. She digs in her teeth and sucks at the skin, knowing that she’s marking the Commander, that as much as she’s going to feel what Lexa’s doing to her tomorrow morning, the alpha won’t be escaping unscathed either.

She runs her tongue under Lexa’s jawline, nips at her ear, and then whispers huskily, with far more control than she feels, “So are you gonna fuck me or not, alpha?”

Her only response is a snarl, and then the addition of a third finger, and she hasn’t been stretched like this in way too long but she’s too busy with how good it feels to notice any pain. Lexa’s pounding into her at just the right spot and she feels herself clenching down around her, all of the aching fullness inside of her tightening her core into a single white-hot point of pleasure. And then she’s crashing over the edge, seeing sparks, and she would have tipped her head back and howled but she’s not ready to let Lexa have that from her, not yet. So she digs her teeth into Lexa’s shoulder, hard enough that the alpha lets out a grunt of what’s probably pain, but she doesn’t let up.

When the last aftershocks of her orgasm have finished fluttering through her, Clarke takes stock of her legs, wondering whether they’ll support her if she hops off the table and tries to regain control of this encounter. But before she can come to a decision, Lexa’s yanking her pants down further, reaching down to tug off her boots and then discarding her (soaked and ruined) underwear in a careless heap. Clarke opens her mouth to scold her but is suddenly treated to the sight of Lexa _sinking to her knees,_ the Commander of the Grounders is sinking to her knees in front of Clarke Griffin and all of a sudden her breath is gone and she’s forgotten words.

Lexa’s eyes are bright and hot, dancing between Clarke’s face and her suddenly overheated, aching, swollen sex. The moment seems to hang in the air between them and Clarke wonders absently what Lexa’s waiting for until she realizes it’s permission. Slowly, as though she’s not quite sure what she’s agreeing to (even though she knows, and her entire body seems to ache for it), Clarke nods.

She can’t help it - she’s keening and arching forward the moment Lexa’s mouth closes over her, but she doesn’t think she should be blamed – the wickedness of the alpha’s tongue, the heat and warmth of her mouth, the way she seems to have somehow perfected the combination of pressure and sucking punctuated with firm swipes along her slit has her nearly coming all over again. But she manages to hold off; Lexa had it too easy last time and she can’t let her get a big head about –

“Fuck, _fuck!”_ Clarke shouts hoarsely to the roof of the tent as Lexa’s tongue slips inside of her. Her thighs are clamping around the alpha’s head in a way that must be painful for Lexa, but she can’t bring herself to care and Lexa doesn’t stop. Clarke can’t help herself; she needs something to hold onto or she thinks she might just fall off the table, or maybe off the edge of the world, so she slides her fingers into Lexa’s braids and clenches. Her nails dig into the Grounder’s scalp when she finds a particularly incredible rhythm, but aside from a slight wince Lexa seems unstoppably determined to bring Clarke to her peak once more.

It’s not long before she’s coming again, inner thighs trembling against Lexa’s ears as her body draws tight, arching into her mouth for more of that delicious pressure and warmth. Lexa must have understood what that meant even if she couldn’t hear Clarke’s hoarse, choked-off cries, but she just keeps fluttering her tongue against Clarke’s clit relentlessly until she’s shoving weakly at her shoulders, shakily gasping, “Lexa, stop, _stop,_ it’s too much, I –”

She clamps her mouth shut over anything she might have said next as the alpha tips her head back to regard Clarke, face gleaming with her wetness and eyes gleamingly _smug._ She’s still trembling with the aftershocks of her pleasure and all she can do is roll her eyes and growl and shove at the Grounder’s head, only realizing afterwards _who_ she just shoved. But to her surprise Lexa just laughs, making Clarke realize just how seldom she’s heard that sound – and surprising herself at just how much she likes it.

These are troubling thoughts to be having so soon after Finn, for someone who’s supposed to be a hate fuck, but when she searches for the fury she often feels for Lexa she finds it somewhat lacking. To push her doubts aside, and to gentle the gesture, she runs her hand through Lexa’s hair and says, “Don’t you want anything?” When Lexa frowns, Clarke glances meaningfully down to the bulge still pressing against the seam of Lexa’s pants. Somewhat comically Lexa follows her gaze and then snaps her head back up, raising an eyebrow at Clarke’s giggle.

“Do you?”

In answer Clarke pushes Lexa’s head back even further, forcing her to rock back on her heels, and then hops off the table. It’s a bit of a toss-up as to whether her legs will hold her, but thankfully they do, albeit shakily. She smirks as she sees a snarl cross Lexa’s face at the position they’re now in, but she’s not going to let Lexa’s instincts ruin her chance at having the Commander where she wants her. As soon as the alpha rises to her full height, Clarke’s pressed up against her, one hand on Lexa’s shoulder to guide her and the other hand cupping the bulge between her legs. The Commander’s growl chokes off into a whimper as Clarke squeezes lightly, giving her a warning look: _I run the show now._ She expects resistance at some point – is looking forward to it, even – but right now Lexa seems cautiously content to let this play out as Clarke wants it.

And that’s good, but that’s not good enough for Clarke: she wants to see Lexa the way Lexa just saw her, head thrown back, moaning, begging. Her gaze is flitting around the tent, looking for the best way to turn Lexa and back her towards the bed, when her eyes light on something and she can’t help it. The idea is terrible and wicked and perfect, and there’s no chance in hell that Lexa will ever be able to sit on her throne again and pass judgment on her people without remembering the time that Clarke Griffin had her on it, writhing and screaming and entirely at her mercy.

“Move,” she orders as soon as she’s plotted out a course, one that won’t involve any tripping over chairs or furs or storage chests and derailing the whole thing. She feels a growl start in Lexa’s chest under her hand and squeezes her again, and the alpha takes an instinctual step back. Clarke would like very much at this point to gloat over how alphas can so easily be reduced to utter obedience, controlled by one mere organ, but the words stick in her throat as she remembers the way Lexa’s fingers had filled her, the torturous skill of her mouth. She’s more determined than ever to get her own back, but Lexa’s not a typical alpha, and the same rules don’t entirely apply.

Lexa has to know where she’s being pushed after a few moments, but she still lets out a surprised breath when her knees hit the back of her throne. Clarke lets go of her cock to place her other hand on Lexa’s other shoulder and push, and the Commander sits, staring wide-eyed up at the omega.

Clarke’s eyes dart from Lexa’s own, which are filled with something akin to awe, to what she can see pressing at the seam of the Commander’s pants. While she badly wants to find out what the alpha will feel like inside her, and whether her skill with her cock can match her abilities with her hands and mouth, she has a point to prove, to herself as much as to Lexa. Before she can stop to overthink it or to talk herself out of it she locks eyes with Lexa and slowly sinks to her knees. When she feels them hit the ground just by the Commander’s boots she can hear a sudden intake of breath.

Lexa might as well be carved from granite with the way that she’s sitting, but when Clarke runs her hands ever so slowly up the alpha’s thighs, making their way inch by painstaking inch towards her goal, she’s surprised to feel the Grounder trembling. She opens her mouth to make a sarcastic remark, but the words die in her throat when she sees just how wide Lexa’s eyes are. She can’t help but wonder, then, based on what she knows of the Commander – which isn’t much, admittedly, but she’s been quickly learning more – how long has it been since anyone has done this for her? Since Lexa’s _trusted_ anyone enough to do this for her? Clarke experiences an unexpected and largely unwelcome surge of tenderness, threatening to completely derail this whole encounter, and she forces herself to harden her gaze as she reaches towards the fastenings of the alpha’s pants. When her knuckles brush against the throbbing hardness they contain, Lexa closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, relieving Clarke from the terrifying openness and vulnerability of her gaze and allowing her to focus on her goal.

Slowly she draws Lexa out of her trousers, hard and dripping and perfectly fitted to her hand, and god knows she’s never been overly fond of giving blowjobs but Lexa’s gone down on her and she finds herself eager to return the favor, eager to know what the Commander tastes like. She gives Lexa’s cock an experimental stroke and is rewarded with a full-body shudder. Clarke smirks to herself. If she’s already getting this much of a reaction, she can’t imagine the alpha will last long.

A low growl from above her makes her head snap up, though her hand doesn’t stop its slow, torturous motion. Lexa’s glaring at her, teeth bared, fingers twitching. The alpha’s look is demanding but also pleading, and it makes Clarke’s mouth start to water, even as her defiance rises. With aching slowness, she leans over the Commander’s lap and lowers her mouth. She can’t resist brushing a few teasing kisses over the dripping head, eliciting another growl, and she does her best to ignore the wetness that trickles down her thigh at the sound.

Lexa’s taste is surprisingly light and clean, and she finds herself not just able to ignore it, but actually enjoying it. She searches for ways to make more of it spill into her mouth, to make Lexa shudder as she struggles not to buck upwards into Clarke; she can see the alpha’s fingers flex as she fights against the urge to slide them into Clarke’s hair and press her down. At this point she’s only taken the swollen head of Lexa’s cock into her mouth but she supposes she should reward the Commander’s restraint, so she slides down to take another inch or so and is rewarded with an agonized groan.

It’s a headrush to think of how utterly captivated Lexa is, how entirely under her control; the alpha’s every instinct must be screaming at her to grab Clarke’s head and fuck her mouth until she spills her release, but instead her nails are audibly gritting into the wooden arms of her throne, and her entire body is a taut cord. Clarke has plans for how she wants the alpha to get off – plans that she thinks Lexa will enjoy, but which will only increase her own satisfaction because she’ll be the one determining how and when – but she can’t help but torment Lexa just a little longer, sucking just a little harder at the alpha’s throbbing member and slowly stroking along its base.

Clarke’s a little disappointed to realize her time is up – Lexa’s rumbles and sighs have turned into growls and low moans – but then Clarke feels the Commander’s hand settle over her head almost tentatively, applying just the barest pressure, and she’s surprised at the rush of wetness she feels as she considers what she’s planned next. She snaps her head up, releasing the head of Lexa’s cock with a slick pop, and glares at her, praying that Lexa can’t see through her annoyed act to the need beneath.

“I don’t think so,” she says sharply, and is pleased to see the alpha’s eyes widen. She slowly rises, keeping one hand on the Commander’s length and exerting pressure as she moves, drawing a long, shuddering breath out of her. She releases her grip only when she’s drawn herself to her full height but she keeps going, loving the feel of Lexa’s eyes on her as she pulls her shirt over her head. It’s like the alpha’s utterly transfixed, a snake captivated by a bird, and that’s what Clarke’s been looking for ever since she came here tonight, maybe even since the first time she entered Lexa’s tent and drew in a breath of that heady cocktail of arrogance, dominance, and power. Now all that power is utterly focused on her, and utterly useless until she desires it. She can’t help but grin to think about it, hiding her smirk in the collar of her shirt as she draws it upwards.

She makes quick work of her bra and then she’s standing buck naked in front of the Commander. She watches the alpha’s eyes roam across her body, so hot that she can almost feel them as patches of warmth where they touch her skin, and she drinks it in, glorying in the need she can smell pouring off Lexa in waves. The alpha opens her mouth to speak but stops short, swallows, and then manages, “Clarke –”

But her voice cuts off as Clarke stalks forward, slams a hand on either side of her head, and leans down to kiss her. Lexa tips her head back eagerly to accept her lips, her tongue, and it’s so good, like fighting fire with fire, until her hands come up to grip at Clarke’s hips, attempting to draw her forward and onto her lap. That’s what she wants, but not yet. She lets out a warning growl but when that only makes Lexa’s hands squeeze harder, she shoves them off. As much of a headrush as it might be to fuck Lexa while she’s buck naked and the alpha’s entirely clothed, that’s not how she wants it – she wants to feel Lexa too.

Pinning the Commander to her seat with a growl and a glare, she makes short work of the coat, shoving it off her shoulders and to a heap on the floor, before dispatching her pants in a similarly careless fashion. She’s not kind – she makes sure to torment Lexa with teasing caresses and sneaky brushes as she does, and is gratified to see her jump a couple of times. When she bends down to remove her boots she’s rewarded with the sound of a needy whine being choked off, and this time she can’t hold back her smirk. Lexa looks furious, and Clarke can’t deny that fury looks hot on her.

“We do this my way,” Clarke says after straddling Lexa’s thighs, just high enough that there’s no contact where she knows they both desperately want it, “or not at all. Understood?” Her voice is rough and low to hide the quaver of need that threatens to overwhelm it. Lexa’s lip lifts and Clarke can feel a growl rumbling inaudibly through her chest, but she’s smart enough – or horny enough – not to let it out. Clarke bites back a grin as Lexa nods once, knowing she’s probably reached the limit of her luck and Lexa’s patience, and then lowers herself to the alpha’s lap.

At the first brush of her heated, dripping sex against Lexa’s cock, she feels herself pulse greedily and is hard-pressed to hold back a moan. She forces herself to slide back and forth along the hard length, coating it with her wetness, and contents herself with the knowledge that as miserable as this is for her, Lexa’s torture must be worse. A glance at the Commander confirms it: she’s panting harshly and her pupils are blown, her nails digging so hard into the wood of the throne that she’s probably going to leave marks. Clarke likes the idea enough to have strength for a couple more passes; a hundred years from now and this throne is still going to bear the signs of the night that Clarke Griffin made the Commander of the Twelve Clans beg for her. Speaking of which…

“Is there something you want, Lexa?” she says, leaning forward to murmur into Lexa’s ear and bracing her hands on the Commander’s shoulders. The alpha’s entire body twitches with the effort of keeping her hands off Clarke, and the omega prays that her voice is steady enough to not give away the fact that even if Lexa breaks the rules of her little game, she’s still going to let her fuck her anyway. Her inner omega’s not going to allow her to walk away from this one, not now, pride be damned. But Lexa doesn’t know that, and that means Clarke still has the upper hand.

“Clarke…” The heat of her breath and the whisper of her lips along Clarke’s jawline nearly undoes her, but she holds herself back at the last second.

“Use your words, Lexa.”

This time the alpha does growl and damn if it doesn’t just make Clarke _drip._ She hides that fact by rubbing herself once more against the Commander’s length, and her inner omega howls to have something hot and hard filling her _right fucking now._ But Lexa’s caught on to what Clarke wants, to what will finally make her sink down to close the last gap between them; Clarke can tell by the glint in the heavy-lidded eyes, and the way that her hands find Clarke’s hips and grasp on, hard enough to bruise but the omega’s beyond caring at this point.

Lexa’s words are a velvet growl: “Clarke, _please_.”

Clarke unleashes her inner omega and feels it take over, reaching down to grasp Lexa’s cock firmly and position it at her entrance. It’s dripping wet with both of them and she can’t imagine being unable to take it all, yet can’t think of anything she wants more. She slowly begins to push down against it, fighting to relax her muscles as the head begins to stretch her. Lexa’s _big_ \- it’s been a long time since she’s been stretched this much – and she’s definitely going to feel it in the morning, but right now she’s going crazy with how good it feels, and how much she wants to be filled. Part of her wishes that Lexa would seize her hips tighter and just _take her_ with one hard thrust, but she doesn’t let herself get too distracted by the image – it’d probably hurt a lot. But the rush of wetness the thought creates allows the widest part of the head to slip inside her, and she lets out a long, low moan.

“Clarke,” Lexa hisses between clenched teeth, her nails digging into Clarke’s hips like they were digging into the wood of the throne only moments ago. Clarke’s somewhat surprised to feel that Lexa’s entire body is trembling, and she wonders with what – the urge to take over, take control like an alpha should? Or is she…nervous? Looking down into Lexa’s eyes – wide and dark with need – Clarke can’t quite tell. All of a sudden her triumph doesn’t feel quite so triumphant, and with a guilty twist to her stomach she leans down and kisses the alpha almost gently. And takes another inch of her, the delicious fullness seeping through her body and igniting her desire for more.

It isn’t quick, but Clarke’s soaking wet and soon enough of Lexa’s shaft is coated in her slickness that she’s able to take it all the way to the hilt. She gasps at the fullness, fluttering and clamping around the hard length inside of her, trying in vain to get used to it. Her only warning that Lexa’s losing control is a low growl, and the dig of the alpha’s nails into her hips. Clarke’s very nearly lost in the sensation of it, a haze coming over her brain, but the slight pain snaps her back into focus and she answers with a growl of her own. Lexa’s lips lift and her hips stutter upward in protest, but she manages to keep from thrusting. Clarke can’t decide whether she’s more satisfied or disappointed.

Still, she knows that the Commander has to be close – she hasn't spent the last half hour teasing her and riling her up for nothing, after all – and so she pushes herself up, her inner muscles clenching in protest at the sudden emptiness, and she grits her teeth against the urge to just sink down again. She manages to let nearly all of Lexa’s cock slip out of her and squeezes herself around its tip for just a moment – reveling in the groan the alpha fails to stifle – before sinking back down, taking it all again in one long push.

This time Clarke can't hold in her moan, her entire body shuddering as pleasure spikes through her. She grinds down hard in Lexa’s lap for just a second but she can't make herself stay longer, much as she knows it would torment the alpha currently writhing below her – she has to feel that delicious, searing stretch again.

She sets a slow, steady pace that has her moaning and Lexa breathless in short order, punctuating each stroke with generous rolls of her hips to get the cock inside her angled just right. Really, though, it's not difficult – the alpha’s shaft is so big that it rubs against the spot swelling at her front wall with every movement, even when she's not trying. Her climax is almost a surprise, hitting her like a rocket and sending fire racing through her veins until she's clenching down around Lexa, head tipped back, screaming her release.

When she finally comes back to herself and gets up the nerve to look at Lexa, what she can see in the alpha’s face makes her pulse all over again, suddenly aware that she's not sated even though she’s just come harder than she can ever remember. The Commander’s mouth hangs open slightly and her chest is heaving with the effort of restraining herself; her hands flex, white-knuckled, on Clarke’s hips, and her eyes are dark and dangerous. That's the only warning she gets before Lexa lunges upwards, fingers digging into Clarke's ass and mouth latching onto Clarke's. The omega lets out a gasp against Lexa's lips because she can feel Lexa still in her, can feel the pure power of the Commander as she rises in one fluid movement, bringing Clarke with her.

She staggers towards the bed, continuing to kiss Clarke greedily while still somehow inside of her, and Clarke can barely catch her breath. The pure power of the Commander hits her in that moment, and she feels a wave of wetness bursting from her, splashing out around the base of Lexa's cock. Which of course makes her think about how they’re so close that they could only be closer if they were tied, and isn’t _that_ an interesting thing to think about - Lexa's knot inside her, filling her up – though she already feels so full that she’s not sure how she could take more.

Somehow – still without letting go of Clarke, or slipping out of her – Lexa manages to maneuver them close enough to the bed. Clarke's back hits the furs and Lexa's right on top of her, and while she vaguely recognizes that she’s not in control anymore and that this is not how the evening’s supposed to go, she can’t bring herself to care. The alpha's weight above her, the rolling of her hips into Clarke's own, feels so perfectly right that all she can do is wrap her legs around Lexa's waist and throw her head back, letting out a long moan that turns into a whine when the Commander's teeth latch onto her throat.

The bite’s not hard, but it’s enough to tip Clarke over the edge again, and she cries out as her inner walls flutter around Lexa's length, nails raking furrows into the tense muscles of the Commander's back. For a moment she thinks Lexa might actually be superhuman and _still_ able to resist coming – but the alpha's hips are stuttering with each thrust, her hot breaths are searing against Clarke's skin, and her harsh grunts have started tapering into low moans, telling Clarke that the Commander’s on the brink. With the last of the brainpower left to her that isn’t just basking in the waves of pleasure ripping through her, she slams her hips up to meet Lexa's, taking her as deep as possible, and deliberately squeezes down.

Lexa says her name in a ragged gasp and Clarke feels the aftershocks of her orgasm extend at the knowledge that Lexa's about to fill her. But to her astonishment, the alpha rips out of her embrace and pulls out just in time to send her release unfurling across Clarke's stomach. The omega's entranced by the sight but also keenly aware of how much she would prefer to have Lexa's come spurting inside of her, and she whines softly as her insides clench jealously. When the last ribbons of come have tapered off, Lexa collapses onto her with a gasp, and Clarke gladly welcomes her warm weight after the shock of the unexpected parting.

She waits until the Grounder's breathing has settled, running her hands along the iron bands of muscle in Lexa's back and the slim curves of her hips. But when she feels a sleepy kiss pressed to the side of her neck she shifts a bit, not willing to let this go without an explanation.

Lexa pulls away immediately, and is that a _blush_ Clarke can see coloring those cheekbones? “I'm sorry about…this,” the alpha says, gesturing awkwardly at the sticky mess between them. She reaches for a soft cloth and quickly pats herself dry before handing it to Clarke, who uses it similarly, torn between bemusement and amusement at the almost bashful way Lexa's behaving – a lot like an awkward teenager and very little like the alpha of a pack, the Commander of the Twelve Clans. It’s rather…endearing, and despite her confusion Clarke can’t help but grin at her.

“It's fine,” she says when she’s finished, handing the cloth back to Lexa and shifting herself over on the bed in conspicuous invitation. After a moment of hesitation, the Commander joins her.

Lexa takes a moment – probably longer than she needs – settling herself back on her elbows, then takes a deep breath before turning to Clarke. “I'm sorry,” she says again, despite the omega’s reassurances. “It's been some time since I've done anything like…this.” She gestures towards their naked, sweat-slicked bodies and Clarke finds herself torn between blushing and rolling her eyes.

“Oh my god, Lexa.”

But the alpha plunges steadily onwards with the air of someone getting an unpleasant duty out of the way. “I haven't really been with someone in this way since…” Her voice trails off and her eyes grow haunted, and Clarke suddenly sees her not as the triumphant Commander or the powerful alpha but as a girl, tired and bowed under the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders. _Shit, Griffin,_ Clarke thinks, _those sound suspiciously like feelings._ But against her better judgement, she reaches out and places her hand – tentatively, like they haven't just spent the last hour fucking each other as hard as they can – on Lexa’s thigh.

“Since Costia.”

Lexa nods, not quite meeting Clarke’s eyes, and the omega rubs her thumb in calming circles across a scar on the alpha’s skin – what looks like a blade that must have just missed her artery. The Commander’s skin is a patchwork of such tracery, and Clarke idly thinks that she might like to map it with her hands and her tongue, while listening to Lexa struggle to tell the story of each one.

She snaps her hand back, frowning – these aren't the thoughts of a one-off fuckbuddy, or even a two- or three-off. These are lovers’ thoughts, and she and Lexa…what are they to each other? There's an undeniable pull, and at first Clarke had thought that this was simply chemistry and hormones, alpha and omega – but after working with Lexa in these last few weeks, getting to know her (as much as the alpha will let her, anyway), she can't help but wonder. Could Lexa be…more?

She glances up to find the Commander’s eyes on her, face caught in a rare open moment. The beauty and vulnerability of it make Clarke suck in a quiet breath, but then Lexa snaps her gaze away and mumbles something about getting dressed. Ignoring the inanity of that statement - it's probably four in the morning, after all – Clarke reaches back out and tightens her grip on the alpha’s leg. To her relief, Lexa stills instantly. “Stay,” Clarke says, keeping her tone light. “It's cold and you're warm.” Slowly, Lexa settles herself back down.

She tries to keep from doing it, she really does, but it's _bothering_ her and she knows it will continue to do so: “I was just wondering, though,” Clarke says, working to continue sounding unconcerned even as she can feel the hard muscle of Lexa’s thigh jump beneath her fingers. “I've never met an alpha that didn't want to come inside me given half a chance. So why did you…?”

Lexa’s staring at her like a deer in Clarke’s crosshairs for so long that the omega has to force herself not to laugh, but then her brow furrows in a frown. “I thought… I know you are not in your heat, but from what I understand omegas are fairly fertile regardless, and I did not know what methods your people might have for preventing seed from catching. I assumed that given the war and the current state of our alliance, pregnancy would be best avoided, and…”

Clarke can’t help herself this time – she barks out a laugh. Lexa’s rambling is just so adorably _awkward_ , and _of course_ Lexa would still manage to be thinking about the alliance when she’s plowing Clarke as hard as she can. Only the tension she can see in the alpha’s body makes her calm down. “I’m sorry,” she says, patting Lexa’s knee once she’s managed to get herself under control, “I really am. It’s just…never been something I’ve had to worry about. On the Ark, all omegas and female betas get devices implanted in their arms once they come into their first heat. They put out hormones that keep you from getting pregnant until the implants are removed.”

Lexa nods, processing the information. “That is…convenient.”

Clarke smirks. “More than. What do you do on the ground?”

“There’s a tonic that our healers make which is fairly reliable in preventing unexpected children, but it tends to make the one who takes it rather ill the morning after, and loses its efficacy fairly rapidly the longer one waits to take it,” the Commander says delicately. “It’s also possible to take the dose and still get pregnant, though fairly rare – but someone in my position cannot be too careful.”

That serves to dampen Clarke’s amusement. Of course an alpha – _the_ alpha, no less – would not want to get tangled up like that with a Skaikru omega, not with relations between their sides as tense as they are. She can imagine the chaos that would ensue – the shouting, the fights, and oh god, _her mother._ Clarke shakes her head to clear it of these thoughts, but is struck by another, which pops out of her mouth before she can think better of it: “Why sleep with me at all, then?”

Lexa’s mouth opens and closes for a moment, but this time Clarke’s the one who blushes. All that she knows of Lexa – how intensely private of a person she is, how her every move is calculated, how much she's lost – is racing through her head and reminding her what an enormously personal question that must have been. The answer she would have expected from nearly anybody else – we’re attracted to one another, it was fun – would make no sense from the Commander. Yes, they've felt a pull from day one – but surely the alpha has no shortage of people highly willing to tend to her needs, and if all she's looking for is _fun_ then Clarke’s about the last person she should turn to.

Lexa doesn't look like she's going to have an answer for her any time soon, and Clarke realizes that whatever it is, she's not ready to hear it. “Don’t answer that,” she says hastily, and Lexa snaps her mouth shut and nods, looking grateful. “Let’s just…I'm really tired,” she finishes lamely, and gives Lexa her best pleading look.

“You may certainly sleep here,” the alpha says, looking a bit more at ease in the role of hostess, and settles in next to Clarke on the absurdly comfortable bed. After a moment, the omega shifts to sling one leg across Lexa’s, an arm around her waist, and her head close enough to the alpha’s that her lips brush her neck when she speaks.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Lexa says quietly. Her entire body is tight and Clarke waits, deciding silently that if she doesn't relax in the next thirty seconds she's going to make something up, pull on her clothes, and go back to her own tent – but then she feels a sigh rumble through Lexa’s chest and the tension begin to seep out of her. She closes her eyes, and shortly afterwards a kiss is pressed to her hair. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

“’Night,” she murmurs back. The smell of alpha – of their mingled scents – is calming her like nothing else, and she thinks hazily before she drifts off that she’ll probably sleep better than she has in ages.

**Author's Note:**

> Trigedasleng:
> 
> **Heda, yu ste ogud? Indra gaf nau bants** \- Commander, are you all right? Indra wants to leave now.  
>  **Ai ste os** \- I am okay.
> 
> (And for anyone still reading, yes I did used to have a different tumblr URL, but like the big idiot I am I forgot not just the password to it but the email address so I have effectively locked myself out of my own blog. I hadn't thought it was possible to be that incompetent but apparently I am just special.)


End file.
